Speak Softly
by imag1ne
Summary: It's an anniversary  and they're together.


A/N: Another one-shot that is also posted on my web page. See .. I can write SHORT stories ;-)

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. "The Pretender" is a protected trademark and I'm just borrowing them. So, please don't sue.

Speak Softly  
By imagine

The room was as dark as it was quiet, giving it an atmosphere so eerie, she almost decided not to enter. The hairs on the back of her neck rose in synch with the goose bumps forming on her arm; but, she refused to be intimidated. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on the gun and stepped into the chamber.

The sound of her heels on the hardwood floor seemed louder than they should and announced her arrival with a hollow clip. After a few steps, when she judged herself to be in the center of the room, Miss Parker stopped, but did not lower the firearm. Listening intently to the silence, she found herself becoming desperate for a noise she could identify - a noise other than her own heartbeat.

"Is there any one here?"

In the heavy air, her voice seemed foreign to her own ears. Swallowing hard, she repeated the question, using a tone that was only slightly above a whisper. It was ironic, she mused, that a softer voice seemed less frightened, less vulnerable than her normal pitch.

"How did you find me?"

She turned abruptly toward where she believed the deep, harsh voice originated; the slight echo disorienting her more than she would admit. There was a movement in the corner – a shift in the shadows. She stared at it, trying to decide if it had been a trick of her mind.

"It wasn't hard," she answered, keeping her tone soft, "I've always known how to find you."

As soon as the words passed her lips, she regretted them. The last thing she wanted was for him to know the truth. It would only make her life more difficult later. She searched the area, hoping for a glimpse of his form but was startled by the sound of his voice coming from behind her.

"I'm not going back with you."

Realizing she was still tightly gripping her gun, Miss Parker loosened the hold and let her arms drop to her sides as she pivoted in the direction of Jarod's voice.

"I don't want you to," she answered, gently, "Not today."

The silence that followed was so deep and so long she wondered if he had managed to sneak from the room. When they were children, he'd always known when to believe her, even when she had trouble doing the same for him. Had things changed that much between them? Holding her ground, she scanned the darkness and listened to her own even breaths, waiting for him to respond.

"You know what today is?"

Releasing a soft breath, she nodded, "Of course I do. I was there."

His voice sounded closer, softer.

She slid her gun into its holster and faced the dark shadows to her left, still unsure of his location; but refusing to keep chasing his voice. When he wanted her to know where he was, he would be still or he would come to her.

"Why do you care?"

"I know what it feels like," she told him, "I'm well acquainted with the . . . hauntings that take place on this kind of an anniversary."

"Hauntings," he repeated thoughtfully.

"That's what they are to me."

Her ears picked up shuffling a few feet in front of her. She took a tentative step, hoping he wouldn't disappear. When he released a heavy sigh, she did the same. He said nothing. She waited.

"I thought I had accepted Kyle's death," he said, finally. "But, every year I find myself mourning again."

He spoke hesitantly and heavily, struggling to keep his emotions in check despite the memories that were bombarding him. The gun. The threat. The flash. The cry. The blood. Closing her eyes long enough to push away the scene, she took another step and reminded herself that he was probably also hearing the last breaths his brother took.

"It'll get easier," she promised.

Reaching out, her fingertips brushed against his shoulder. He was sitting. When he didn't flinch, she moved closer and laid her hand on his back. She could feel his heart beat.

"When?" he asked, almost pleading, "When will it get easier?"

"When you let someone mourn with you," she whispered.

He let out a strangled laugh and shook his head. "I don't . . ."

"It's okay," she whispered, pulling his body until it leaned heavily against hers, "Tonight, you have me."

THE END

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


End file.
